


Habits

by That_One_Yaoi_Kid



Series: Summit [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depressed Carl, M/M, Millennial life, Recreational Drug Use, Stoned Saturday Night, joints, stoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_One_Yaoi_Kid/pseuds/That_One_Yaoi_Kid
Summary: Carl deserves a night of Cheetos and Netflix, with a side of cheap weed.





	Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Carl needs comfort, and Enid is there to help.

What a peaceful sight; Carl lies on his side, still dressed in last night’s clothes but his shoes were carefully placed in his closet. His brown locks are spread out on the pillow behind his head, his silk sheets hanging on his clad shoulders but his comforter just barely hugs his waist. His pale, thin hands are balled up in front of his face, and with his eyes shut and breathing slow; he looks like the eye of a hurricane wrapped in bedsheets.

 

The scene is interrupted when Carl’s cell phone rings on his bedside desk. The young man groans, slowly prying his eyes open as his hand haphazardly slams on the nightstand, searching for his phone. And when his fingers finally find it, he snatches it and turns on his back, lazily pressing the green answer button on the vivid screen.

 

“Hello?” Carl can’t even recognize the croak as his own. He sounds broken, bleeding at the seams; so wore out. 

 

“Carl! Oh, my god! Thank god you answered.” Lydia’s voice is almost as hoarse, except she’s only hungover. 

The brunette nods, realizing she can’t seem him so he sighs in a lazy manner of,  _ yeah, I’m alive. Wish I wasn’t. _

 

Lydia clears her throat, “How is the hangover treating you, bub?”

 

“Amazingly perfect. I already puked it all last night, so the headache isn’t horrible. Just a sore throat.” Lydia can hear shuffling on the other side of the line, like Carl is moving out of bed.

“Hey, mister. Stay your ass in bed for the better, Enid is going to nurse you back to health once she’s down puking her own guts out. And I bet your throat  _ does  _ hurt.”

 

Carl can feel his eyes swell his unshed tears at Lydia’s crude humor. “Yeah, he’s just a work friend.”

 

Lydia chuckles roughly, “Uh-huh.”

 

“Look, I’ll...uh, talk to you later. Alright? I’ve got to...take a shower and…” Carl trails off and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. 

 

“Oh, well, okay? You sure you’re alright, lil’ dude? I can always get you some painkillers or--” Lydia sounds so confused, and it upsets Carl further.

 

“Lydia, I’m fine. Just, I have to go. Bye.” Carl’s voice unknowingly catches, and tears stream down his cheeks when he ends the call. 

 

The distressed brunette chucks the phone somewhere in his room, luckily it lands on his bed and he chokes out a sob. Carl puts his clothed wrist over his mouth and nose when the smell of last night comes back to him. Memories of last night sting and pull at his brain and he wants to run, scream.

 

Negan was so kind, so careful and so….good. And Carl knows it’s not him, and it never will be him. But if only this man knew what kind of fire he exactly was playing with.

 

He wipes furiously at his face, wiping away all emotions until he’s left empty and stoic; for the time being. “Fuck,” he whispers meekly into the void, groggily turning around and walking into his connecting bathroom.

 

Opening the shower door, he turns the hot water on, as hot as it gets and quickly strips himself of his clothing. The bathroom mirror has already fogged over by the time he steps under the scorching stream of water, slamming the shower door shut.

 

The water burns his skin, but for once it’s a good burn and he bows his head underneath the stream.

His hair mops over his face and shoulders, and he hugs himself for more impossible warmth. Despite the steam, goosebumps raise on his arms, torso, and legs and his vision clouds with more tears.

 

You wouldn’t think that a middle-aged, obnoxious, and loud asshole like Negan would leave such a huge emotional footprint on a millennial babysitter. But Negan  _ did   _ leave a huge emotional footprint on Carl, and it fucking sucks that the former isn’t aware of where he steps.

\--

After his shower, Carl brushes his teeth and changes into a white spaghetti strap tank top with a pale long sweater over it and grey Calvin Klein sweatpants. He runs his fingers through his still damp hair and sighs, rubbing at his face.

 

Negan is a great guy. He’s very neutering and aware of everyone’s secrets and emotions, and it’s magnificent that Carl has figured that out in the solid twenty-four hours he’s known him. The man has got to be some kind of lady’s man if he has  _ kids  _ and the more he thinks about Negan being swarmed by two little boys everyday when he comes home from work, Carl doubts he’s queer.

 

Carl is pulled from his thoughts by his doorbell ringing. Silently, he slowly makes his way to his front door. When he opens the door, Enid stands on the other side, holding grocery bags of white wine, pretzels,  _ Cheese Balls _ ,  _ Cheetos _ ,  _ Nutella _ , peanut butter, ice cream,  _ Pizza Rolls _ , and  _ Pop-Tarts _ . 

 

“Hi,” Enid says slowly, giving a shy smile.

 

Carl gives her a small wave. Cautiously, Enid looks Carl up and down with a concerned expression. “So...this really is worse than we all think it is?”

 

Carl cuts her a look, “We?”

 

Enid nods, “Lydia, Duane, and I. I swear, they are the only--”   
Interrupting her, Carl mumbles, “Unless you have weed, you’re never being allowed in my home.”

 

Enid gives him another smile, pulling out a ziplock bag from one of the grocery bags. Carl eyes the bag carefully, before finally moving out of the way to let Enid inside.

\--

“So...are you going to tell me what’s got you so depressed, today?” Enid asks carefully, watching her best friend roll up a joint with ease. 

 

“Give me three joints, a bag of pretzels and two packets of  _ Pop-Tarts  _ and I answer. Sober, of course.” Carl informs, placing the joint in between his lips haphazardly, fishing his lighter out of his sweater pocket.

 

Enid can’t bite back a smile, grateful that her friend is is willing to open up to her. Carl has fallen victim to bottling up his emotions many times before now, and it’s practically a fucking miracle if he chooses to open up to you. More often than not, it takes either a lot of drinks after an expensive dinner, or plenty of snacks,  _ Netflix,  _ and joints.

\--

Two joints later, the two friends lay high on Carl’s bed; bowls of pretzels,  _ Cheetos,  _ and hot fries lay around them, containers of  _ Nutella  _ and peanut butter sit on the nightstand, and white wine sits in whatever clean glasses Carl could scavenge. 

 

Carl takes another hit, giggling as he watches the smoke surges out of his mouth. When he passes the joint, Enid coughs at the smell and coughs even more after inhaling.

 

Carl doesn’t even glance at her, “Not in your lungs, jackass.” 

 

Enid rolls her eyes and continues coughing. 

 

Carl sits up to sip at some wine before diving into a plate of warm pizza rolls. Enid clears her throat, just merely catching Carl’s attention when she sets the joint aside. 

 

“So, you going to tell me, now?”

 

“I haven’t even  _ touched  _  the  _ Pop-Tarts,  _ so no.”

 

Enid sighs, irritated. “Carl, I didn’t come here  _ just  _ to get high.”

 

“Someone knows you need it. I call bullshit.” Carl guffaws.

 

“Carl, I’m serious.” 

“E, I’m serious too. Let me finish my  _ Pizza Rolls  _ and I’ll think about it.”

 

Frustrated, Enid springs up and slaps the plate out of Carl’s hands. “Goddamn it, Carl! You’re a fucking coward and you know it! So for once, stop bottling it up, quit pushing people away, and actually fucking talk about your problems!”   
  


Carl sits still, and dead silent which irritates Enid further, “Fuck, dude. I’m sorry, I tried being nice, I hope you see that--” Carl holds up a hand to shut her up.

 

“Say another word, and I might just snap your neck, Enid.” The young woman cringes at the use of her real name, but she keeps quiet.

 

“You  _ really  _ want to know my problems? You really want to know, Enid?” Carl sits up straight, and Enid slowly nods.

 

Carl scoffs, “Fuck you, Enid. Alright? Fuck you!” The brunette stands up out of bed and starts pacing. 

 

“I’m a fucking hurricane, Enid! That’s my problem! Everything, everyone I touch and love runs away after the calm part, and I’m so fucking done with people running away! My mom ran away, Jesus ran away, Ben ran away, fucking everyone ran away! And it fucking hurts, and I am so done.”

 

Enid inhales slowly. “Carl, you know that’s not true.”

 

“Fuck off! Don’t even fucking say that! Don’t even think for one second that will solve jack shit! I fell in love with an asshole that would never love me, because he’s straight, and he has two kids, and I am fucking pathetic!” Carl’s voice cracks violently and his heavy breaths are the only thing heard in the room before he falls into heart wrenching sobs.

 

Enid is barely able to catch him before he sinks to his knees, Carl’s hands veiling his face as he sobs uncontrollably. Enid sighs, her heart breaking in two at the sight and she wraps her arms around him. She holds Carl’s head in one hand, the other runs up and down his back as she hushes him and comforts Carl quietly. 

 

“Shhh….shh, I’m not leaving. Shh...it’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Enid begins a mantra, and it gradually descends into a soft murmur in Carl’s ears as he slips into unconsciousness.


End file.
